


Quiet Nights

by Dark_and_night



Category: House of Wax (2005)
Genre: Late Night Conversations, Mention of abuse, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26128432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_and_night/pseuds/Dark_and_night
Summary: Bo and you talk about past trauma.
Relationships: Bo Sinclair/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 48





	Quiet Nights

The TV rumbled in the background; the volume down low. It was some sort of action movie judging by the amount of explosion sounds that you were hearing. Neither of you were paying any attention to it though. 

Bo’s head was on your chest, your fingers slowly moving through his hair, pulling it until it was taught and feeling the ends between your fingers before letting go. Bo was shirtless, his arms wrapped around your waist tightly. You were wearing his shirt, and you were pantless. Together the two of you were wearing one whole outfit.

He pulled one arm out from behind you, lightly grabbing your wrist. “Enough of that, now.”

You giggled, wiggling your fingers at him. “But I like touching it.”

“If you wanna touch me somewhere, pick something more interesting.” He grinned in a way that let you know he wasn’t serious. You smiled, lowering your hands onto his back.

As he started tucking his hand back into place behind your back, Bo noticed you glance at the scars on his wrist. You looked away before you’d noticed a saw you sneaking a peek.

“You can ask.” He mumbled into your chest.

“Huh?” You looked down at him, raising your eyebrows.

“I know you’re curious, and I know you’ve seen the high chairs.” He shrugged slightly. “You can ask.”

“Oh.” You watched as he buried his face back in your chest. His body tensed ever so slightly when he told you that you could ask. “Well, I have seen the chairs, so I can put enough together without having to dig up any bad feelings.”

“’S fine.” He lifted his head again, looking more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him. “I kinda wanna talk about it.”

“Oh, Bo.” You leaned down, kissing his forehead. “I love you.”

He nodded in reply, licking his lips nervously before looking away. “It hurt a lot. Every time, actually. The more they did it the more scared I got, the more I thrashed, the more they did it.” He shook his head. “I was too young to think of acting calm, I just didn’t want in the chair.”

You nodded sadly, tears already pricking at your eyes. You blinked them down, not risking making him feel like he shouldn’t be talking to you.

“I always knew I was the one no one wanted around.” He shrugged. “Vincent was loved, Lester was the baby, and I was ‘that little shit’ or ‘little monster.’ I was always the only one mama and dad hurt.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, sniffing as the threat of crying continued to loom over you. “Bo, I’m so-.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” He said abruptly. “They’re dead. So what’s the point of thinkin’ about what they did or didn’t do?”

“Bo, it’s okay to still be hurting.” You cooed, cupping his face in your hands. He nuzzled his face in your palms, his face warm. “I think it’s normal to still feel bad even if they aren’t in your life anymore.”

He sat up, the vulnerable expression on his face slowly hardening into the Bo you knew every day. “Yeah, what would you know about it?”

You sat there for a moment, disappointed in him for deflecting but understanding why he would do it. He’d never gone into sensitive territory before with you, it was past his comfort zone.

Sighing, you looked at your hand. “Okay, my parents never hurt me. But they never let me grow up, either.”

Bo frowned in confusion. “Huh?”

“My parents wanted me to be dependent on them until I died. They never taught me how to think for myself, how to do housework, hell, I didn’t even dress myself until an embarrassingly old age.” Your body instantly chilled at admitting all of this, but you did want to finally talk about it. “That’s why I lack critical thinking skills, why I freeze up when something surprises me. I know you hate how whenever an intruder runs by me I just – I just stand there – but I never learned how to be independent. I only started learning things most people learn about living after I ran away.”

Bo stilled; your confession suddenly putting everything into a new light. He looked down at his wrists, then back up at you. Your eyes were wet and you were sniffing, and you weren’t looking at him.

“Hey.” He reached out to you, carefully pulling you into his lap. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, and he slowly ran his hand up and down your thigh. He rested his cheek on your forehead, closing his eyes. “I get it.”

You let out a deep, shuddering breath, melting into his chest. “I love you so much, Bo.”

“I love ya.” He mumbled, still after all this time a little embarrassed to say it out loud. “We don’t need to worry about shit like that right now.”

Smiling, you pulled back, kissing his cheek. “I’d like to talk about it, sometimes. Because sometimes, it just hurts a lot.”

He blew air out his nose, putting his chin on top of your head. “I get that too.”


End file.
